


If It Stands Still Long Enough

by arthur_pendragon



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Attempts at humour, Canon Era, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Good morgana, Jealous Arthur, M/M, Possessive Arthur, long-suffering Merlin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-14 23:40:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14147163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arthur_pendragon/pseuds/arthur_pendragon
Summary: What had originally been a plan to get Arthur out of an unwanted marriage devolves into a tug of war between Arthur and his erstwhile intended, with Merlin as the rope.Or, the one in which Merlin is the most tormented human being ever and Arthur wouldn't see sense if it danced naked in front of him.





	If It Stands Still Long Enough

**Author's Note:**

> set somewhere in series 1/ in between series 1 and 2 (it's not important to the story, but still...)

“I’ve told Morgana we’re fucking,” Arthur began, on a day that was supposed to be like any other but which Merlin suspected would end in disaster, “and she’s going to gossip about it with Princess Rosamund when the retinue arrives.”

“ _What_ ,” Merlin said, closing his eyes and counting to ten in his head. “Arthur. What.” He kept brushing the soot off the hearth as it would not clean itself (at least not when Arthur was around to notice).

“I,” Arthur said and quietly started his breakfast.

“Hey,” Merlin exclaimed, whipping around to face Arthur (and cringing slightly as his back protested). “You _did_ tell her we’re not actually—?”

“She knows, I just roped her into my plan,” Arthur said. There was a contrite look on his face as he speared a piece of apple that resolutely did not make anything better.

“What plan? You know if Morgana tells Gwen we’re sleeping with each other, then Leon believes it, then _Gareth_ believes it, which means Kay and Percival and Bedivere and all the other knights and their squires believe it!”

“You’ll come away with a high reputation?” Arthur offered. “Is it so bad to be thought of as sharing the prince’s bed?”

“Appalling,” Merlin said, surly now. “And stop making that face, it doesn’t work on me. If Uther finds out, Arthur, I shall involuntarily find permanent employment elsewhere and it’ll all be your fault.”

“Don’t be silly, of course Father knows. I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night knowing you were making someone else’s life miserable,” Arthur said, though the kicked-puppy expression he was sporting did not drop for a second. It wasn’t working on Merlin. Not at all.

“Well, _that’s_ all well and good, but did you even consider asking me if I wanted to be part of whatever harebrained scheme you’ve plotted?”

“Once or twice in front of Rosamund might clinch it,” Arthur mused, because of course he hadn’t thought about poor Merlin in this at all. “Look, Merlin, can’t you let these rumours keep going for just a bit?”

“No, I really cannot let myself be insulted like this for even a second. I’m going straight to Gwen after this and telling her you’re a right—”

“Listen, Merlin,” Arthur said, waving his bread roll at him, and Merlin rather thought his next requests would be to taste, touch, and smell. “It’s just until Rosamund and her father leave.”

“No.”

“I’ll pay you.”

Merlin snorted.

“I’ll send the castle’s warmest furs and the richest wines to your mum.”

“So _she’ll_ think we’re fucking, too.”

“I’ll give you a week off!”

That gave Merlin pause.

“During Yuletide,” he challenged.

“Absolutely not.” Arthur folded his arms.

“Oh, is that Gwen’s voice I hear? I think I had something to tell her—”

“ _Merlin._ ”

Fine, Merlin was spectacularly weak to Arthur’s puppy eyes. He gave in.

“Why is it so important that Rosamund think you’re bedding your manservant?”

“I couldn’t give two hoots about Rosamund,” Arthur said, his turn to be surly. “She’s hated me ever since I shot an arrow into her pet rabbit as a child. No, I’m _sure_ King Fabian and the banshee are coming here for a marriage proposal and I’m uncertain Father’s going to put up much of a fight this time.”

“And?” Merlin prompted.

“And if Rosamund thinks I’m not interested in women, then her father will informed of the same in much less flattering terms, all the better for me, and then I’ll be left alone.”

“Why _don’t_ you want to marry Rosamund?”

“I’m merely a child,” Arthur pouted, all of twenty-four. “All right, it’s because I’d have to see Rosamund’s face every day for the rest of my life. Who wants to live like that?”

“‘ _Couldn’t give two hoots about Rosamund,’_ ” Merlin said in a singsong voice.

Arthur blinked. Then he turned on Merlin. “Excuse me?” he said incredulously. “What exactly are you implying?”

“Oh, I’m not smart enough to imply anything—” Merlin said, quelled with a look from Arthur. “Fine. I’ll do as you command. Just know that I wish I’d never met you.”

“And for that, you’re working on Yuletide.”

“Slave driver,” Merlin sighed. “Just admit you’re trying to get the visiting princess’s attention and make her jealous.”

Arthur stopped dead.

“Is that what you think,” he said, in a very fatal-sounding voice that Merlin did not care for at all.

* * *

 

“You ought to be more careful where you snog the prince,” Gwen whispered to Merlin as they served at the banquet that night. Merlin fumbled his platter but magically (wink, wink) saved it from a sorry fate. “Outside the kitchen! How could you?”

“I,” Merlin said helplessly. He couldn’t even deny it. Arthur had really gone overboard with his rumours this time, and Merlin was honour-bound (okay, Arthur hadn’t gone _that_ far but Merlin liked Arthur a lot despite all his claims to the contrary) to pretend everything was true.

“How did you even…?”

“What?”

Gwen shrugged. “Get together with him?” She soldiered on over Merlin’s ‘oh, God, Gwen, really’ and said, “We all want to know!”

“We all— _who_?”

“All of us! Morgana, myself, Leon.”

“Gareth?”

“Gareth said to tell you he doesn’t care a farthing, he’s deeply wounded that he didn’t hear it straight from the horse’s mouth, and that he’ll help find you and Arthur the most secret corners of the castle when Arthur’s bed gets too boring.”

“Fuck Gareth,” Merlin decided.

“My, Merlin,” came Arthur’s voice from behind Merlin, who jumped about a foot into the air and rounded angrily on a very smug Arthur. “Try not to upset me so early in the evening.”

“Die,” Merlin muttered. Gwen almost smiled before she looked like she thought better of it.

Arthur took the platter from Merlin’s hands and set it down on the nearest table. Merlin could see all the usual nobles from King Uther’s court pointedly carrying on with their food, Uther (rolling his eyes) included. Merlin blushed despite himself and ducked his head, with Arthur taking the opportunity to crowd him against the wall.

“Well—bye, Merlin,” Gwen said merrily, no doubt to laugh at them with Morgana (who had opted to have her dinner in her rooms), and took off.

“Not here,” Merlin whined. Arthur was too close. Merlin wasn’t sure he’d be able to avoid making a spectacle of himself if Arthur followed through on his promise to kiss him.

“Yes, here,” Arthur said. “I’m drunk and I’m acting very irresponsibly. We need to practise if we want Fabian and Rosamund to buy it.”

“You didn’t touch your goblet all night.”

“C’mon, kiss meeeee.”

“Your _father_ —”

“Is well within earshot,” Uther muttered, before turning to Gaius and valiantly striking up a conversation about King Fabian’s two sons. Gaius on his part just sent a withering look Merlin’s way and spared Uther from having to glance at his own son a second time.

Arthur looked a bit dispirited. Merlin nearly patted him on the head. He had it on good authority that Arthur’s hair was very lustrous and soft and like threads of silk, which is to say Merlin had once and never again run his fingers through it before shaking Arthur awake.

“Well, I guess this isn’t necessary, then, since Gwen’s gone, too,” Arthur said.

Merlin silently thanked whomever he was supposed to thank for this divine rescue.

“Tomorrow,” Arthur said, obviously having caught on to Merlin’s gratitude. “Tomorrow you’re coming with me to the knights’ barracks—” “Don’t I always,” Merlin said— “and giving me a good snog there.”

“Leon will see!”

“Why do you care so much if Leon sees?”

Merlin frowned. “He’ll believe Gwen if she tells him, but if he actually sees us he’ll know it’s all a ruse.”

“Don’t you want to make Leon jealous?” Arthur grinned.

“Leon is only a friend—”

“I’m sure,” Arthur sneered, and Merlin shoved him off and retrieved his platter.

“Anyway,” Merlin said, brandishing said salver like a shield between them, “I’m not _giving_ you any snogs. It’s your rubbish plan. You do all the hard work.”

“Yes, just lie back and think of Albion,” Arthur said, distracted by a bunch of grapes on Merlin’s platter. He picked it off and returned to his seat by Uther.

 _Dear Mother,_ Merlin wrote carefully on a piece of paper that night. _I hate Camelot. I hate Arthur. I hate everything here: Arthur the most, Gaius the least, the king second after Arthur. I’m coming back to you just as soon as I escape Arthur’s clutches. Yours, Merlin. P.S. I turned down a bribe of furs. Are you proud of me? Should I just have taken it? I’m doing Arthur’s bidding regardless… I’m an idiot, aren’t I?_

* * *

 

The kiss did not end up happening, as Sir Kay’s squire came running to Arthur to tell him that they were all already up and raring to go for patrol. Merlin grinned at Arthur when the news arrived, and that Arthur looked deflated—Merlin was just going to ignore that.

* * *

 

Rosamund was quite a nice person, undeserving of Arthur’s brickbats; or so Merlin would’ve thought had he not glimpsed her deliberately stepping on Arthur’s foot as he helped her alight from her carriage.

“Hello,” she said sweetly to Merlin (inconspicuously pushing Arthur away). “Who might you be?”

Merlin was struck momentarily spellbound by Rosamund’s beauty (and wouldn’t have been surprised to find out that he had been literally spellbound, too). She had the most lovely golden hair, most glowing skin, lips like a blooming rosebud, and nothing but the frostiest glare in her green eyes when she glanced Arthur’s way.

“My manservant,” Arthur said, once the scene of Merlin gaping at the princess grew old. “You needn’t pay any attention to him, he’s a fool.”

“Surely not more than his master,” Rosamund said innocently. She didn’t take her wide eyes off Merlin, who, if he hadn’t known better, might have thought she was _interested_ in him.

“Merlin, my lady,” Merlin said finally. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Rosamund smiled broadly and proffered her hand, sweeping it out of the way when Arthur made to take it. Merlin grasped it and, bowing, kissed the back of it because it seemed that was what she wanted him to do. Rosamund blushed slightly as his lips touched her knuckles.

Beside Merlin, Arthur choked.

“Allow me to show you to your rooms,” he said, shoving Merlin aside and firmly taking hold of the same hand Rosamund had given Merlin.

“Well, then,” Rosamund said, complacent, but she let herself be dragged past her own servants, her father, and Arthur’s, who looked on with bemusement.

“Anyway, about the concord I’m here for—” Merlin heard Fabian say as he followed his master into the castle, and wondered if someone should tell Arthur he was wrong about everything as usual.

* * *

 

“You,” Arthur growled once they were in his rooms, rounding on Merlin. “You’re not supposed to make her fall in love with you. She’s supposed to realise she’s miserably been in love with me all along and then pine for me forever, not blush and stutter at one look from you.”

Merlin said, “Does it mean I don’t have to kiss you anymore?”

Arthur stopped backing Merlin up against the wall.

“No,” he said decidedly. “It has to be you. I don’t care about her—when did I say I did, Merlin, shut up—you can’t fall into her trap. I won’t let her have you. No, once Morgana carries out her role and Rosamund sees us rolling in the hay, she won’t go after you and that’ll be that.”

“I thought— _rolling—_ what.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and stepped away. “Keep up, Merlin.”

 _If only I could_ , Merlin thought weakly.

* * *

 

“Were you born in Camelot?” Rosamund asked.

Merlin looked up from his plate, flushing. Arthur fixed him with a stony-faced stare.

“The hag asked you a question, Merlin.”

“No, ma’am, Ealdor, on the outskirts of Mercia,” Merlin said, feeling very much stuck between the devil and the deep blue sea.

He had never been invited to eat with the nobles. It was something of a custom for nobility to eat before the servant class, he had gathered, from the way Arthur always snarled at him when he filched Arthur’s food (though the fact that Merlin always went for Arthur’s favourite figs might have something to do with it). So that he was sitting down with Rosamund and, of course, Arthur at a lavish wooden table underneath a laburnum bough in the palace gardens was a treat; or it would have been, had Arthur not been so sullen about lending Merlin one of his finest cloaks and an ass all the way down from his rooms to the garth.

“I see,” Rosamund said, seeming riveted by this esoteric topic. “And how did you end up coming to Camelot and working for this boor?”

“I saved his life and his father decided to punish me for it,” Merlin said, finally a mischievous smile breaking through. Rosamund laughed. _Oh,_ Merlin thought. _Even her laugh is pretty._

Arthur sighed noisily, resigning himself to an afternoon of mockery aimed at him, and tucked into his lunch without further ado.

“I see you opted for the chicken. This venison isn’t to my taste; would you mind if I tried some of your dish?” Rosamund said, batting her eyelashes in what Merlin thought was an obvious trick to set Arthur off. It worked.

“Oh, she’d like to try your dish, all right—” Arthur muttered, cut off by Merlin’s knee knocking into his. Merlin smiled winningly at him.

“Be nice,” Merlin murmured out of the corner of his mouth, clearly having the upper hand now.

“He’s not capable of it,” Rosamund said. “Don’t bother.”

“Rosamund, if I may,” Arthur said.

“You may not.”

Merlin snickered. His grin was instantly wiped off his face when Arthur casually slung one arm round Merlin’s shoulders, pulling him close like a lover, and asked Rosamund, “Have you met Morgana yet? I’m sure she has wonderful things to talk to you about. Perhaps even some juicy gossip you’d never get in that hamlet you call a kingdom.”

“No,” Rosamund said, narrowing her eyes at the two. “I _am_ planning to visit her, once this lunch is over.”

“Then this lunch is over,” Arthur announced, rising, Merlin still attached to him. “Bye, Rosie.”

“My chicken,” Merlin said plaintively, as Arthur pulled him away. He looked back for a last wistful glimpse at what would have been the best lunch of his life and instead met Rosamund’s eye. She mirthfully waved at him.

“Do join me for my evening walk, Merlin!” she called.

“No!” Arthur roared back.

Merlin grimaced at Arthur, who only tugged him closer.

“Princesses usually never fall in love with me,” Merlin ventured. He didn’t like being lugged around like a sack of potatoes, especially not on the cold stone floors of the castle corridors. Arthur’s lean frame belied his upper body strength. “Take your chances this once and just… let me loose.”

“I wouldn’t sic you on even my worst enemy,” Arthur said, and that was that.

 _Dear Mother,_ Merlin wrote that night. _I had a lovely evening stroll around the lower town with a princess who was very interested in Ealdorian traditions. Arthur caught me halfway through (I’d had to sneak away from his bedroom—it’s not what you think!) and we had a shouting match about how I’m allowed to go wherever I want, with whomever I want. He looked a bit sad when I won, but Princess Rosamund sidetracked him by calling him a brainless prat and then he was his usual self again._

 _I think he’s an idiot, but I’m fond of him anyway. Don’t tell anyone! Arthur would be so smug if he found out. Yours, Merlin. P.S. The princess doesn’t_ really _like me, she clearly just wants to annoy the hell out of Arthur—I’ve found a kindred spirit in her._

* * *

 

The next time Merlin saw Rosamund, she was embroidering with Morgana and Gwen in a cloister overlooking the courtyard.

“Good afternoon,” Merlin said, bowing to all of them.

“Merlin,” Morgana said, smiling at him. “Having a nice day?”

Merlin noticed the shrewd edge of her smile and regretfully remembered her part in the charade. “Yes, my lady. The prince likes to overwork me, but it isn’t anything I can’t deal with.”

Rosamund threw him a wicked glance. “I never thought _Arthur_ —or you, for that matter—but anyway. Forgive my forwardness, but just because you’re fucking Arthur doesn’t mean you’re incurious about women, are you?”

“Am I?” Merlin said, for want of anything else to say.

“You really could do a lot better than him,” Rosamund continued. “A _lot_ better.”

Gwen looked up from her painstaking work, scandalised.

 _I really couldn’t_ , Merlin thought. Out loud, he said,“Your highness, I really couldn’t.” Arthur would cheerfully spar with any insults Merlin pelted at him when they were alone, but Merlin would rather reveal himself as a sorcerer to Uther than say any hurtful things about Arthur behind his back. Friendship, and all that.

“Nonsense. Arthur’s hardly the cream of the crop.” Rosamund snorted in Morgana’s direction. Morgana snorted in sisterhood. “Weren’t you saying on our walk the other day that you’d rather shine the knights’ boots than handle him when he’s hungry?”

“That was just a trivial joke at his expense. I wouldn’t be so fed up if I didn’t love him,” Merlin said. Rosamund rolled her eyes.

“Soon,” she said. “I shall tell you all about Arthur and the terrible things he did when we were children. It’s why I loathe him so much.”

“Oh, have you kept any new pets?” Morgana said, smoothly steering the conversation away from Arthur’s many, many, many, many foibles.

Gwen caught Merlin’s eye and mouthed, _what._ Merlin raised his shoulders in the universal signal for _I know fuck all._

“I just came to inform you that the kings have requested Princess Rosamund’s presence at the feast tonight,” Merlin said to her. Gwen nodded. Morgana and Rosamund showed no signs of ceasing their Morgana-engendered chatter about deer and ponies and dogs.

Except that Rosamund said, “Goodbye, Merlin! Could you come see me in my chambers tonight?”, Morgana and Gwen both dropped their embroidery hoops in shock, and Merlin hastily dipped out of sight before he could be required to reply.

* * *

 

Arthur was seething when Merlin updated him before the feast.

“You’re sleeping in my chambers tonight,” he informed Merlin, whose mouth tightened. “I can’t let you see this hussy any longer.”

“Do you not trust in my ability to turn her down? She _knows_ we’re lovers—I mean she thinks it—she’s just trying to get to you through me.”

“No! Haven’t you _seen_ her? She’s like an angel! You’d be mesmerised in a second if she took her slip off before you!”

“Goodness, Arthur, you _like_ her.”

“I don’t,” Arthur said, closing his eyes in consternation and turning away. “I just don’t want you hurt by her games.”

Merlin laughed. “Arthur, I’ve known her all of three days. Trust me, I’m in no hurry to elope with her.”

Never mind the fact that Merlin had grown ready to die for Arthur in about the same time. Arthur was _different_. Arthur was _unique_. Arthur was—a very cruel man:

“As if she’d stoop so low to spite me so as to run away with the likes of _you_.”

Merlin paused. He tried to reply, but no words could slip past the tight, aching squeeze of his heart in his throat.

“Sorry, Merlin, I’m in a temper, that was uncalled for,” Arthur said, turning back to him, but then he saw the look on Merlin’s face and froze, aghast.

Merlin fisted his hands and stared at his worn boots, gritting his teeth and fighting the urge to rub at his eyes.

“You ought to be getting ready for the feast,” he said, once Arthur had taken the two steps necessary to stand right in front of him.

Arthur swallowed. His hand came up to rest lightly on Merlin’s neck, the metal of his ring icy against Merlin’s skin.

“It’s all right,” Merlin said, recovering the bounce in his voice. “I’ve heard worse, from you yourself.” He beamed at Arthur and hoped he was convincing enough.

Arthur kissed him.

Once. Twice. Merlin lost count as Arthur kissed his apology into Merlin’s mouth, brief and never-ending, airy and sharp, never going deep, just—just _there._

“Forgive me,” Arthur murmured aeons later into Merlin’s ear, when Merlin was shuddering under the combined intensity of all of Arthur’s kisses, clutching the cloth of Arthur’s tunic in a weak effort to stay upright. “She brings out the worst in me.”

“You ought to be getting ready for the feast,” Merlin repeated, warm in Arthur’s embrace, once more left with little to say.

* * *

 

Arthur gave Merlin the evening off, which meant Rosamund conscripted Merlin to her side of the banquet table. People stared. Merlin stared back.

“Had a fight with your lover?” Rosamund asked with a twinkle in her eye.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Merlin said, determined to make the best of this dire situation and stuff his stomach with all the food he usually only salivated over. “Why else would you risk being seen as a harlot, inviting a servant to your bedchamber?”

Rosamund laughed.

“I really do abhor Arthur and his type, you know,” she said. “He’s a vindictive, entitled brat. My rabbit was a gift from my older brother before he left for battle, and I only showed it to Arthur because I trusted him to be like my brother: kind and gentle to those lesser than him. Do you know what he did? He declared rabbits fit only for being hunted and slew it then and there. Tell me, what does that say about a man? How can I ever imagine myself in wedlock with him?”

“He was a child with only his grieving, crazed father to teach him humanity,” Merlin replied. Uther flinched, at the head of the table. Merlin sat still as a statue until the king shook himself a little and turned back to Fabian.

“How often does he go hunting?”

“As often as he likes,” Merlin said, which was not an answer, but Merlin wasn’t about to tell her the truth: _far too often_.

“How does he treat his people?”

“With the respect they deserve.”

“And you?”

“And me?”

“How did he bully you into pretending to be his lover—oh, don’t give me that look, Lady Morgana is like a sister to me, she didn’t even try to lie.”

“He only needed to ask once.” Merlin might have made Arthur wheedle him for his own amusement, but that was neither here nor there.

Rosamund drew up. “Oh,” she said.

“You came to Camelot with far too many assumptions, Princess Rosamund. You assumed Arthur would be the same person he was as an immature child. He isn’t, but you didn’t even give him the chance to prove himself. You—and Arthur, too, actually—assumed you were here not solely to keep your father company, but to be married off to each other. You aren’t. Your fathers are waiting to laugh in your faces about it. Most importantly, you assumed Arthur doesn’t have the hearing of a bat _and can hear me calling him a massive fucking idiot_ —”

“Merlin, language,” Arthur called in an outraged tone that contrasted greatly with the dazzling smile on his face.

Rosamund laughed.

“I like you,” she said gaily. “I’m sorry I used you like a chess pawn, but you have to admit, it was entertaining and very fruitful. Come back to my kingdom with me.”

“I humbly refuse, and even if I did come, Arthur would wage war with your father just to drag me back to Camelot.”

“Yes, he would,” Arthur said from across the room. “The Crown Prince can’t live without his consort.”

Uther barely managed not to spit his wine all over Fabian, and by the time his manservant mopped up the bit that had dribbled over his chin, Merlin was long gone from the hall, Arthur vanished with him.

* * *

 

_Dear Mother, I’ve made a fast friend in Princess Rosamund. She promises to send me letters once a month (Arthur promises to tear them all up), and says that Arthur’s best quality is his thickheadedness. I agree with her when Arthur’s around, but I secretly think it’s the way he gets so ruffled sometimes over the silliest things (he once saw me when I hadn’t yet combed my hair. He kept walking into walls the entire morning, but I think it was just to make me laugh). Rosamund’s biggest regret of the entire visit, she says, is that Arthur and I never got around to the roll-in-the-hay part of the plan._

_Wait._

_Did I tell you about the plan?_

_It’s a long story. I’ll tell you in my next letter._

_Yours, Merlin._

_P.S. Arthur says hello._

**Author's Note:**

> feedback welcomed <3<3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Sign Anything (A Retelling)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14169483) by [arthur_pendragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arthur_pendragon/pseuds/arthur_pendragon)




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